


New Days Bring New Lives

by Thundercatlola



Category: Unus Annus - Fandom
Genre: I know the channel is gone but this is my way of grieving, I'm Going to Hell, Post-Canon, Spirit Transference, There's some legit cult stuff going on here, Unus Annus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27608230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thundercatlola/pseuds/Thundercatlola
Summary: It's been exactly 356 days since Mark Fishbach and Ethan Nestor passed into The Great Beyond. It's time for the new hosts to emerge.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	New Days Bring New Lives

**Author's Note:**

> This is based mainly off my own headcanon for UA, and since I was unable to catch the ending livestream there is a big chance this will not be accurate. If you don't like, don't read.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

A slim man with bleached hair sits at a halved desk in the midst of a cool, empty office. The desk he leans into is panelled with white marble, obsidian and glass- the left is pure black, the right completely white. The curtains are drawn within the room, and the air is still.

_Tick. Tick._

The noise comes from an ancient pocket watch the man cradles in his pale hands. His willowy fingers trace the lines of rust in the worn metal in disbelief, pausing when they brush over the emblem imprinted at the front. The brand of an hourglass and two skulls winks back at him in the low light as he regards it with silent awe.

The handle of the office door suddenly twists downward, swinging quietly open from the outside. A woman stands imposingly in the doorway, hands crossed behind her back.

“Are you done accustomating to this new space?” Her voice is low and restrained, words scraping together as if carved from solid ice.

“Yes.” The young man answers softly, without looking up.

“That’s good. They are ready for you.”

The desk chair scrapes against the floor as the man stands, it’s squeaking sound almost deafening in the tranquil space. The pocket watch is left lying face-open in the center of the table, chain coiled around the worn body like a cold, iron serpent.

The ticking continues to reverberate long after the office door has closed.

*

Everything is in place.

The two hosts lie on their receiving beds in the sanctimony hall, dressed appropriately with hands folded over their chests. There’s the boy on the far left with the white hair, so tall that the pant cuffs of his crisp black suit barely reach his gangly ankles. A blonde girl swathed in white rests at the distant right, with clasped fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Rippling shafts of warm candlelight illuminate the hall, casting a golden hue over the two young adults. The boy stares up at the soft, flickering haloes being painted on the ceiling by the candles, trying to quell the thrashing within his chest. He can hear the blood rushing through his ears, stirred by the frantic pulse of his heart.

He can do this. He was chosen to do this. Ethan- no, _Unus_ \- had picked him out as successor before he and Mark- _Annus_ \- renounced, after all. This is his purpose.

Chants usher through the hall. Fires are lit. Wax is painted over the hosts’s mouths and around their eyes. Essential oils are rubbed into the skin, till the air is clogged with the dry, overpowering stench of smoke and herbs.

“Unus Annus, Unus Annus, Unus Annus-”

“Open the coffin! Let the powers transfer into these new hosts!”

The lid of the polished black-and-white casket is lifted. It’s contents are released in the form of mist, drifting high and heavy, pooling above the boy’s head in wreathes of spiraling black and white. He can hear the same noise he had when first opening the pocket watch. It makes his heart ache.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

The chanting carries in the background, fading more and more into the humming which marks the constant, falling sands of time. The fog pools sweetly before the boy’s eyes, beckoning for this new host to accept it, to let it in. As the boy inhales, the last thing he hears before all goes dark is the words brushing by in a sigh of warm breath.

“Momento Mori… _Make these precious seconds last_.”


End file.
